


Super Husbands from A-Z

by thegrumblingirl



Series: I Can Feel Your Anger Marching [1]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I mostly pictured Henry and Ben but I don't have preferences, M/M, i just like their faces, if that helps any, picture whichever incarnations of the characters you like, post Man of Steel, some steamy scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4481888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slowly catching his breath, Clark turned on his side, curling around Bruce's frame. His lips found a mole on his shoulder, a small scar, nipped at the swell of his bicep. His hand wandered down Bruce's arm, finally finding his hand. Bruce intertwined their fingers, holding on tight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Super Husbands from A-Z

**Author's Note:**

> A-Z fic, one short snippet for each letter, in sequence but not necessarily connected  
> musical inspiration: Hozier, Florence + The Machine, The Heavy, Snow Ghosts, The Rapture  
> written on a long train ride to Innsbruck
> 
> For Inkie (countermeasures).

Absolutes  
When you got flung into an alternate dimension of your own world, all that you knew flew out the window. A shudder made its way down Bruce’s spine as he thought of the possibilities. What might happen when — if — he successfully located this world’s Superman. Would he be his friend — or his enemy? Would they protect each other at all cost, or would they shoot on sight?  
Was this Batman as sure of Clark Kent’s love as Bruce scarcely allowed himself to be?

Bleak  
The sun had set on the hewn opening of the bat cave, so the shadows inside it now belonged solely to the torches driven into the rock high above their heads. Clark was hyperaware of them tonight, of the gloom surrounding the bat computer in more ways than one. It had been a long time now since Clark had last felt truly out of place here, like an intruder; and certainly not since Bruce had all but asked him to move in. But he still did, sometimes, when neither Bruce nor the Bat were there, and Alfred had already gone to bed, not even Dick or Barbara working late on cases of their own. In these moments, without Bruce, the shadows seemed longer, and suddenly they had teeth and gleaming eyes in the dark. Resolving himself, he sat in Batman’s familiar chair, waiting. Waiting for Bruce to wake up.

Clean  
Still laughing, they tumbled out of the shower cubicle, Clark thanking his quick reflexes for grabbing onto the towel rail before going flying on the slippery tiles. Bruce chuckled at his back and Clark half-turned at the sound, a pleased smile on his own face. Evenings like this were few and far between, the Batman letting go of Bruce long enough for the guilt to become a distant shadow. Carefully, Clark used one of the towels to dry Bruce off — his scar-bitten torso, his strong arms and legs, corded muscles finally releasing the tension built up during restless patrols. Never taking his eyes off Bruce’s face, committing the near imperceptible changes in his expression to memory. A slight wince at Clark brushing newly-healed flesh, an immediate softening around the corners of his mouth when Clark soothed the skin gently with his thumb. The miniscule tilt of his lips into a smile as Clark pressed a kiss to his shoulder. A soft sigh escaped Bruce as he curled his hands around Clark’s hips.  
“Weren’t we supposed to clean ourselves up?” Clark couldn’t resist teasing.  
“A made bed always gets unmade again,” Bruce murmured before taking Clark’s mouth in a demanding kiss.

Disapproval  
Predictably, coming back to the bat cave with bullets having very nearly punched their way through the layers of his protective suit drew more than merely a concerned eyebrow from Alfred. Disappointment fairly radiated from the man, all presented with the quiet manner of an experienced butler who knew better than to give a voice to their misgivings. Bruce knew just as well from the way Alfred insisted to be present when Clark cauterised one of the wounds and treated the remaining scratches and scrapes diligently (and stonily silently), from the way which he handed Clark assorted salves, gauze, and butterfly bandages, that he had, in Alfred’s esteemed opinion, fucked up royally. Congratulations to the Bat on a job well done, and zero points to Bruce for neglecting his personal safety. Once he was done, Clark gently covered Bruce’s good hand with his fingers, and Bruce braced himself for the impending lecture.  
He was surprised when Clark merely leaned forward to kiss his temple before letting go of his hand to help Alfred gather the first aid supplies.  
“No stern talking-to? I’m surprised, I thought Kryptonians had a thing for speeches.”  
“I’m not my father, Bruce,” Clark replied, turning just in time to catch Bruce’s frown. “I can’t walk in his shadow any more than you can.”

Endings  
As reality collapsed on itself and the alternate dimension they’d been trapped in merged with their own, Batman caught alt!Superman’s gaze one last time.  
They hadn’t been friends here, nor enemies. Merely… allies; the Justice League a loose menagerie of heroes, gods, and metahumans, teaming up when necessary and generally keeping themselves to themselves. Barbara could walk, Dick’s parents hadn’t died up in that circus tent. Clark had married Lois, had a child, and had stared at Batman’s hand on his arm as if Bruce had casually told him that the Earth was a disc carried on the back of a giant tortoise.  
It had hurt, despite everything, had felt like losing a confidante and a friend, even knowing that “his” Superman was back in another bubble universe, waiting.  
As Batman felt the (by now familiar) tug behind his navel as the world around him went black, it felt like an ending to a story that had never even begun.

Feathers  
“Oh no.”  
“Alfred is going to pack his bags and leave the country, and he might not come back this time.”  
“He wouldn’t leave you.”  
“For this? Oh, he would.”  
Bruce and Clark stood in the middle of the Manor’s entrance lobby, watching the feathers dislodge themselves from their tuxedos, slowly sinking to the floor in batches. They’d been on their way back from a Wayne charity function when Raven had popped up out of nowhere and attacked them. It hadn’t been all that hard for Bruce to keep up with Clark even without his batsuit, but he still wished he’d have had the foresight to pocket a few claws, on the off chance… but there was nothing for it now.  
“You couldn’t have taken the servants’ entrance?”  
Funny, how that tone could make Bruce feel like he was ten years old all over again. Together, he and Clark turned to face him, Clark rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish look on his face.  
“Hello, Mr Pennyworth.”  
“Oh don’t you start with me, Master Kent.”

Gentle  
Slowly catching his breath, Clark turned on his side, curling around Bruce's frame. His lips found a mole on his shoulder, a small scar, nipped at the swell of his bicep. His hand wandered down Bruce's arm, finally finding his hand. Bruce intertwined their fingers, holding on tight.

High Horse  
"Oh, Clark," his mom sighed, sitting down across from him at the kitchen table. "It's time for you to get off that high horse, boy."  
"Time for me to what off what?"  
She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. (The same expression that Clark had adopted from her and that always made Jimmy throw his hands in the air and leave the newsroom, exasperation in his wake.) "It's no use mooning over him if you already know you want to team up with him."  
"I'm not mooning over Batman!"  
"No, you're mooning over Bruce Wayne. And you want to help _him_."  
"I don't have a crush on--"  
"Darling."  
"But he's a broody, arrogant--"  
"Sure, your father would think he's a little too old for you, but your father always conveniently forgot we had 12 years between us, too."  
At this point, Clark was all but gaping like a fish.  
"Oh just go and get it, boy."

Innocence  
Bruce woke in the early hours of the morning, shifting carefully so he wouldn't wake Clark. Curling his arm tighter around the sleeping man next to him, Bruce let himself watch him just for a moment. Clark's lips were parted in sleep and he was drooling on the pillow a little bit. Bruce knew that Clark would quickly wipe at the side of his mouth the next morning, slightly embarrassed, and smiled in the dark. Sometimes those reminders of Clark's youth compared to his own... more settled age pricked at Bruce's heart, but he could never make the effort to feel truly guilty. He didn't delude himself that Clark had managed to hold onto that fabled childhood innocence any more than Bruce had. He might have grown up on a farm in the Midwest, had not just figuratively been nearly born in a barn, but Clark as a boy had been no stranger to the cruelties of humanity. Sometimes, Bruce wanted to buy into the fiction the media were weaving around the symbol of hope on Superman's chest, that he had lived in peace on Earth until he found the strength and purpose to lead them, a god among them. But that's not how the story went.  
In the dark, Bruce pressed a light kiss into the dark hair curling on his pillow.

Joy  
With Lois' delighted shriek, it was as though the whole newsroom erupted in cheer. Clark tried to hide his left hand, embarrassed at the attention suddenly focused on him, but he knew it was no use.  
"Oh man, he finally asked?" Jimmy asked him, grin nearly splitting his face. Clark nodded, couldn't stop the smile. "Naw, I'm so happy for you, boy," Jimmy smiled back and gave him a quick, tight hug. As soon as he'd released Clark, Lois stretched on her toes next to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek.  
"It's beautiful, Clark." She took his hand in hers and inspected the gold band properly. "Which inscription did he choose in the end?"  
Clark's eyes widened. "He had several choices?"  
Lois laughed lightly. "He did, one more romantic than the next."  
Clark looked down at his hand. "Well, this one's perfect."

_Let hope be our anchor._

Knives  
"May I remind you," Superman spoke through gritted teeth as he pressed Batman into the side of a shipping container, "that you are not impervious to bullets."  
"But to knives," Batman rasped back, pushing his partner aside to step in the way of the butcher's knife aimed at the other man's side. Deflecting the strike with his vambrances, he broke the blade with a twist of his wrist, sending the attacker flying seconds later.  
Superman sighed. "I knew he was behind me."  
Batman scoffed, and Clark could swear he saw Bruce roll his eyes behind the impenetrable glowing white of his mask. "Enough chat. Let's flank them."  
"If they shoot, you get behind me."  
"Yes, dear."

Light  
The air above Metropolis was thick with smoke, the sun all but blocked out. An eerie gloom settled upon the crater left in the middle of the city, people slowly crawling out of hiding places, those who could twisting free of debris, others yelling for help, panic in their voices still.  
Clark stepped out into the street, Lois at his side, facing what destruction the day had brought. _He_ had brought.  
"All of this is on me." He spoke with finality, brooking no argument. Lois didn't attempt to make one.  
"It is," she replied, tears forming in her eyes.  
"What do I do?"  
"You face what's coming. You help them rebuild. You tell them who you are. You ask for their forgiveness. And then you do what you think you should do with your powers."  
"How can they let me?"  
"You've stepped into the light now. Let them see you."  
"And if they come for me?"  
"Then you meet them head-on."

Madness  
Clark didn't pretend to understand the Joker. He'd seen madness in Zod, had seen the hunger for power nearly destroy Lex, but the Joker... his obsession with Batman could only be matched by the level of dedication Bruce put into keeping up with his schemes. He _understood_ him. Whether it was the months down in a hole in the desert, or the determination of a twelve-year-old boy going through police files for months on end trying to find his parents' killer, Clark didn't presume to guess. Bruce's single-minded focus what was drove the Batman to the edge, and Clark sometimes wondered how anything could find any space next to that.

Needy (continuation of Clean)  
Bruce panted into Clark's neck, lips grazing the sensitive skin just behind his ear.  
"Please," he breathed, and Clark's head thumped into the wall behind him. That one word out of Bruce's mouth... He used his entire weight to turn them around, Bruce moaning as his eyes fell shut, Clark pressing him into the wall now, his hands sliding across his skin, teasing with his fingertips, then gripping his hips and grinding against him. Bruce felt heat flood his body, his pulse throbbing through him. "Clark," he whispered brokenly, unable to articulate what he wanted.  
Clark understood anyway. His hands sliding underneath Bruce's thighs, he parted them and lifted him up, legs bracketing Clark's hips, and closed the distance between them. His breath left Bruce as his back connected with the wall with a decisive thud, Clark now holding him up, his cock trapped against Clark's stomach. Blindly, Bruce bent down to find Clark's lips with his own, licking into his mouth as his panting breath allowed him, bucking his hips. Clark's own erection brushed the underside of his, and Bruce could have sobbed, caught in the need building between them.

Open (Eyes)  
It was so easy protecting the Batman on patrol, it was so easy spinning him around and out of harm's way as the bullets bounced off his back, it was so easy to ignore the other man's grousing about not needing protection. It was so easy putting a hand on his arm to bring him to a halt in the dark between shipping containers or abandoned buildings. It was so easy loving him silently when Bruce's eyes were hidden behind the glowing light of his mask or helmet. It was so easy threatening to break a criminal's back if they hurt him.  
It was so easy never saying a word to his face when it was unmasked and open and free of the Batman's shadow.

Plenty  
Clark had never set foot in such a house, had never understood the need for one, either. Now here he was, in Wayne Manor, the walls of the hall decked with bookshelves up to the ceiling, betraying the family's innate curiosity about the world more than their wealth, but its undeniable prevalence was in the amount of original first editions, the beautiful leather bindings, the gold and copper stitches.  
"You done ogling my father's books?" Bruce's tone was teasing instead of impatient, Clark knew that now, so he merely turned to face him.  
"Depends, do they know how to dance?"

Quick, quick  
"Come on, before Alfred hears us!" Bruce urged Clark down the corridor, his arms clutching the wrapped parcels.  
"Why do you insist on doing this at three in the morning? We could just bring them downstairs with us after breakfast."  
Bruce stopped dead in his tracks and gave Clark his best unimpressed stare. "I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that." Then, he continued down the hall, leaving Clark scrambling to catch up with him and not drop anything.  
"Merry Christmas," he muttered under his breath, but he was smiling again already.

Ritual  
Every night they came home from a patrol, they would take stock. Scratches, grazes, bruises, were all carefully mapped and treated. Most of the time, they made do alone, only more expansive injuries were reason enough to call Alfred down again after he'd met them at the entrance to the cave.  
Every night, Bruce would memorise the blemishes and wounds on Clark's skin, knowing they would heal more quickly than his, but also knowing that the force behind the attack had to have been considerable to have left a mark in the first place. Thanks to his suit, most of Clark's injuries were limited to his unprotected face and neck, which bore no further thinking about. A knife in the right place at the wrong time, and... Clark's hand closed around his fingers.  
"We made it through another night. Let's just go to bed."

Sacrifice  
“You don't have to do this.”  
“You don't owe them anything.”  
“Don't you think you should let go?”  
Those were the things people said to Bruce after Metropolis, after putting Superman on trial. Superman had bled, they both had, and in the end neither of them had won. He knew Clark’s secret now, as Clark knew his, and there was a finality in that. He couldn't stand by and let that young Kryptonian pick up the pieces he left behind.  
Diana stepped in front of him to block the doorway. “You did what you came back to do. Haven't they done enough to you? Hasn't that suit done enough to you?”  
“This isn't about the Batman,” Bruce deflected. Diana scoffed. “Fine. But it's not just about Gotham anymore. Not just about me.”  
“Donning that cowl again will be your downfall, friend.”  
“Then that's what it'll be.”

Tragedy  
“And in light of this terrible tragedy, we should all—”  
That’s as far as the mayor of Metropolis got before the barman fulfilled Clark’s request and changed the channel. They ended up with college football.  
“Ain’t a damn tragedy,” the man grumbled, sliding the dirty towel off his shoulder to continue polishing pint glasses (doing more harm than good. Clark could see the irony in that). “’s a fucking sign from God.”  
“Sign of what?“ Clark asked from where he was staring into his glass.  
“Sign that when a meteor comes down with an alien baby in it, you leave it where the hell it landed.”  
Clark forced himself to nod along, to hum appropriately. Clenching his jaw, he nearly didn’t register the hand that softly landed on his thigh, thumb rubbing circles into the denim.

Unyielding  
Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne were both what people would call, "stubborn bastards." They disagreed on principles, on safety concerns, on politics, and certainly on ways of dealing with criminals. Neither would ever pick up a gun, neither would kill unless forced to to protect innocents.  
Neither would ever accept one of them killing to save the other.  
"But what if--"  
"Then leave me! I will not have you kill for me!"  
"Says the one who nearly drowned Luthor to get out of him where he'd taken me!"  
Like this the arguments went on for days, never to settle on an agreement. After Clark swallowed the Kryptonite pill, Bruce wouldn't speak to him for days. He never touched the remote switch that controlled it.

Vice  
Clark smiled as Bruce came into the kitchen, following his nose until he found the source of what had lured him here. "Oh, God."  
Belgian waffles sat, still warm, on the counter.

Worship  
As Clark stood in the crowd, his cape fluttering in the wind as would a flag, hands reaching for him, people crying out his new name, he blinked against the rising sun, then at the hopeful faces around him. A calm settled upon him. He'd never be anyone's god, or saviour. But he could be their friend, the strength at their backs.

X  
Clark traced the outlines of an X burnt into the lawn outside the abandoned manor.  
"Do you think they'll ever return here?"  
"Without Charles... I'm not sure." Bruce looked out over the lake. "Does that satellite dish look crooked to you?"

Yellow  
The silhouette of the Bat signal shone brightly against the clouds, the force of the floodlight turning them yellow. Clark landed next to Commissioner Gordon, stepping up beside him.  
"Still holding out hope he'll return?"  
"Where is he?"  
"After what this city has done to him, I don't think you've earned the right to know."

Zenith  
The sun stood high in the sky, its rays warming Clark's skin and bones. He soaked it all up, marvelling not for the first time at how his body had adjusted to the atmosphere on this planet, as if terraforming itself in an effort to survive. The earth gave him power, now, the sun gave him strength, and the sky let his spirits soar.  
He turned at a noise behind him, and saw Bruce stepping out onto the porch of his childhood home, blinking against the light. Their gazes found each other. They smiled.


End file.
